


Pretending I was Fred Astaire

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Missing Scene, Possibly Unrequited Love, Yule Ball, boys being dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9594485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: Damn it, Dean hadn't even considered asking Seamus to the Ball until Neville'd gone and opened his big mouth.“Why are you all worried about getting a date? Won’t you be asking Seamus, then?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dean Thomas's partner for the Yule Ball is never specified. That fact sparked this. Sorry?
> 
> Title is from the song "My Best Friend" on the album "Thirteen Stories Down" which features songs by composer Jonathan Reid Gealt. Please go listen to it, it's amazing.

Fuck’s sake, just fucking man up and _ask_ him. He’s your best mate regardless, right? And he doesn’t have a date or anything. He would have told you. So, case in point, just fucking hike up your pants and look Seamus Finnigan right in his stupid freckled face and ask him to the Yule Ball.

You know. As _mates_.

Er, well, depending on how he takes it. ‘cause, you know, if he wanted to maybe be more than just friends—

Dean Thomas stopped suddenly in the middle of the rut he was walking in the dormitory floor and ground his knuckles into his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. His massive gigantic obvious crush on his best friend might as well be wearing a neon sign and tap dancing on McGonagall’s desk.

And damn it, he hadn’t even considered asking Seamus to the Ball until Neville.

Neville, with his stupid round face and stupid observational powers and stupid innocent question.

“ _Why are you all worried about getting a date? Won’t you be asking Seamus, then?_ ”

Dean had choked on his pumpkin juice in horror, looking around wildly to see if anyone had overhead Neville, before thwacking his friend on the back of the head.

Neville had squealed in surprise and pain, and Dean had felt bad, but honestly he thought he’d been more subtle than that! Had anyone else noticed? Fuck, had _Seamus_?

But then Seamus had come sprawling onto the bench beside him and stolen his toast and now that Dena thought about it, he didn’t even like orange marmalade. He’d made that toast specifically for Seamus because he knew he always slept too late on Monday and he never had time to eat by the time he’d dragged himself downstairs.

Seamus had taken the toast with a groan and stuffed it in his mouth and the conversation had mercifully died. Neville had beaten a hasty retreat to class while Dean waited for Seamus to stare blearily into a glass of juice for a few minutes before hustling him up and heading for Transfiguration.

That had been nearly a week ago now. Dean stood in the dormitory staring blankly at the wall, unable to stop thinking about it. They were both terrible dancers – McGonagall’s forced dance practices had proven that pretty quickly. But he couldn’t help the secret thought that seemed to creep into his mind more and more lately, that maybe it might actually be fun to spin Seamus around on the dance floor, both of them stumbling over their feet and laughing. Seamus’s eyes would be bright under the enchanted candles and Dean would lean in, fingers brushing his cheek, and—

Nope. Enough of that.

But the blush that would skitter across Seamus’s freckles—

 _No_ , fuck’s sake, _enough_!

Dean flopped down onto his bed, glaring at the canopy on his four poster as though he could set it on fire by glaring.

Doubtful, but hey, wandless magic was known to be unpredictable.

Footsteps thudded on the stairs and Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

_Please don’t be Seamus, please don’t be Seamus, please don’t be Seamus, please—_

“Dean!”

Crap.

Dean opened his eyes just in time to see Seamus come bouncing into the room, eyes bright and grin stretched wide across his face.

“Hey—” Dean barely got out, shoving himself up on an elbow, before Seamus dove onto his bed, bouncing on the springs and tumbling into Dean’s legs.

Dean kicked him, feeling a pang twist his stomach as his traitorous face broke into a grin. Seamus grinned wildly back and sat back on the bed, crossing his legs in some kind of strange bendy sort of criss-cross sitting style that Dean could never hope to get his long legs to do.

A rush of affection bubbled up into Dean’s throat and tightened it until he could barely breathe. He wondered crazily if Seamus could read his heart on his face – he had to be able to read something, right? There was no way Dean’s face was staying neutral when all he could think about, lying there propped on his elbows on his bed while Seamus sat opposite him at the foot of it, knee resting against Dean’s ankle, was kissing Seamus Finnigan under the enchanted candlelight at the Yule Ball.

He could ask him. Right here, while they were alone in the dormitory. Even if Seamus said no—

_His nose wrinkled in surprise. Disgust._

“ _Like a date?”_

_Dean would laugh - “Hell no, mate, just thought since neither of us’ve got anyone...”_

_Laugh, brush it off._

_Easy._

– at least then Dean would know. And he could absolutely swallow his feelings for the rest of his natural born life to keep Seamus as his best friend. Totally. It wouldn’t have to be weird at all.

Dean took a breath.

He could do this. He _would_ do this. Dean Thomas wasn’t a coward.

“Hey, Seamus… I, uh, I was wonderin’—”

But Seamus was bouncing a little on the bed, holding up his hands.

“Hold on, Dean, ‘cause guess what? Go on, huh, you gotta guess what just happened to me!”

Words frozen on his tongue, heart pounding against his ribs, Dean managed to raise a single smooth eyebrow. “Yoooou… passed your latest potions essay?”

Seamus snorted. “Yeah, come on now, let’s have an actual guess based in this reality, huh?”

Dean chuckled and was casting around for another guess when Seamus couldn’t wait a second longer.

“She said _yes_ , mate.”

For a single blissful moment, Dean had no idea what Seamus was talking about.

Then he remembered, as though in a foggy daydream, Seamus musing earlier that week about asking Lavender Brown to the Ball.

“ _And you can ask Parvati! Then we’ll, y’know, match, or whatever.”_

Right. He’d forgotten that converstation. He’d been meant to ask Parvati and they’d all go as a group.

_She said yes, mate._

Dean’s heart popped in a single jolt of pain and sank, low, into the pit of his stomach.

Oh. So that’s what that felt like. Maybe he shouldn’t roll his eyes the next time he was home and his mum was all weepy over the latest vampire romance film.

He realized, a second too late, that Seamus was watching him, the grin dimming just a bit as Dean sat there unresponsive.

Shit. He forced a smile that had to look as brittle as it felt. “That’s great, Seamus! Really!”

Seamus squinted at him. “You alright? You look kinda queasy.”

“Nah, ‘m fine.” Dean sat up all the way and regretted it immediately. Seamus was far far too close now, the concern clear in his eyes.

“Well anyway, hate to break it to you, but you’ve missed the window on Parvati. Potter up and asked her out of nowhere.”

“That bastard,” Dean said dully, no heat behind his words. Seamus pursed his lips and clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing it.

“Don’t worry, though – you can go with me and Lav. And I think Neville’s got someone too, so there’ll be a group of us!”

“Right.”

_Get it together, Thomas, or he’ll notice something’s up!_

With Herculean effort, Dean pulled himself together and took a breath before shooting Seamus what he hoped was a normal smile. Seamus seemed to realize at that moment that he was still leaning into Dean’s space, hand on his shoulder, and released him quickly, sitting back.

“So anyway, what color d’ya think? Guess it’s really up to Lavender, but I don’t wanna get stuck wearing like, some awful shade of chartreuse, yeah?”

That, despite the ache in his chest, sparked a surprised laugh out of Dean. “How the bloody hell do you know what color chartreuse is?”

Seamus grinned widely, unbending his legs and pushing on Dean’s chest with his socked toes until Dean fell back against his pillows. “Piss off, Dean, it’s green. Everyone knows that.”

“Sure, every girl currently out shopping for a dress knows that.”

“Eat me.”

Dean laughed, reaching up and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Hearts could heal, right? And now he knew. Seamus probably hadn’t even considered asking him – the thought probably hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had his answer, and he could move on.

Move on with his life and be Seamus Finnigan’s best friend. Be Dean-and-Seamus without being DeanandSeamus.

Dean took a deep breath and shoved himself up, pulling his legs back and pouring himself off the bed and onto the floor. He stretched his arms up over his head, feeling his spine lengthen and pop. His heart gurgled unhappily, thudding pain in radiating tendrils through his ribs. Dean ignored it.

“Well, that’s great, mate. Really fantastic. Shall we go get something to eat, then? Celebrate your finally taking on the ladies?”

“Yeah! I’m starving for some reason.” Seamus bounded up off the bed and headed for the door, pausing only to grab his shoes from where they sat at the foot of his own four poster.

Dean held open the door, letting Seamus duck under his arm, before following him out onto the stairs, heading for the common room.

Now he knew. He could move on.

Seamus turned around, hopping down the stairs on one foot as he tried to traverse the staircase, talk to Dean, and put his shoes on at the same time.

Dean rolled his eyes, interrupting Seamus’s half-formed question about whether Dean thought the treacle tart from last night had tasted funny. “Seamus, cool it, huh? Put your shoes on. You’re gonna fall on your head.”

Seamus stuck out his tongue but did bend down and tug his shoe the rest of the way on.

Dean stared at the top of Seamus’s head and felt prickling affection creep its way into the pit of his stomach, wrapping around the hard knot that seemed to have settled there permanently.

Now he could move on.

Problem was, he didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to.

Seamus stood back up, both shoes on and laces tied, and grinned at him. “Ready?”

_Get a grip, Thomas, fuck’s sake._

Dean took a breath, nodded, and followed Seamus down the stairs.


End file.
